The water pulls with violent pressure, slipping into each crevice and crack in an attempt to rip the ship apart from the inside out. The vessel holds strong, though it groans like a lost lover bemoaning her husband's harsh, wicked blows. Shackles, in hindsight, make for a poor anchor, when flesh is too pliant and blood slips in velvet sheets down wrecked wrists. Richard is a fly pinned to a glass slide, his eyes fluttering with each dreaded thump of his heart.
There was an abject disassociation that came with the act; a small pitcher of water, an even smaller meal, and a snake had won an audience with a man. But, though his fangs were tucked away in the shadowed recesses of his mouth, the indention of a bite was still blatantly apparent. The one who slithered was silent in his seething disapproval when a soldier molded to suit his designs had been ripped out from among his sinuous coils.
The sea has hips that sway each long, provocative night. By moonlight, the sand is a haven, a warm embrace that rocks Richard straight into a state of drowsiness. Unguarded, he lays bare, stretches his long limbs atop the worn and wary threads of his day-wear, and whispers a name to the million twinkling eyes staring down at him from the night sky. His hips push up as his hands slide lower, "Isabella, Isabella," spilling warm and sticky from between his dry lips.
Baptism would be putting it... lightly. For every furious dunk of the Spaniard's dark head straight into the oncoming rush of waves, Jacob had to fight a battle within himself simply to pull the man up again. It was the kind of frustration that blinded the senses, a temporary hatred, of the sort, that would burn to the touch.
A hitch of stuttered memory blurred the image of Jacob's would-be murderer for half a moment -- two pale bodies, beautiful in their stillness, terrifying in their implication -- and he shoved the man down once again.
One man stares disease in the face, trembles, alights, pushes through hell in a storm, kills, cries; his prayers reach the ceiling before shattering in front of his feet. Another growls, raves, two harsh hands turning murderous and cold; he wraps a blanket 'round his visitor and explains the unexplainable. The third is a string plucked taut, a vibration of vitality and hatred; he turns his words into a noose and wraps it tight around another's neck, pulling until the flesh is nearly severed, but still he answers to a warden.
table by dizzyknee
screen caps used @ homeofthenutty